


A Christmas Miracle

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Christmas Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: An unexpected gift from Greg to Mycroft takes an expected turn.





	A Christmas Miracle

Mycroft shifted from one foot to the other and let his gaze sweep over the room. The lights were low and festive, the music tastefully in the background, the small talk animated. He took a sip of his champagne and sighed. Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes until he could leave. His parents had forced him to come to Baker Street for Christmas. Darling Sherlock had invited the whole family. Wouldn’t do for his big brother to miss it, would it? Of course not. His mother had insisted, his father even more. Things were still more than tense between them, so he had agreed for the greater good. In any case, Mycroft had given himself two hours until it would be acceptable to go, and those were almost over.

The company in the room was small, well-known and vastly inconsequential. Sherlock, Dr. Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Ms. Hooper, Inspector Lestrade, their parents. And of course Rosie Watson, who was the star of the show, amusing everyone by making a mess of… everything. Mycroft had kept to the side, standing near the window, widely ignored by most, beyond a few polite words. Only his parents glanced at him from time to time… and Lestrade, oddly, looked into his direction more often than not. It was easy not to get sweeped up by the general happy mood, because he simply wasn’t included. Mycroft knew rationally that it should hurt, but he had somehow grown numb to it. 

Finally he emptied his glass and put it down. In that moment Sherlock looked over and put up a hand to signal that he should wait. Mycroft watched him disappear into the bedroom and return, carrying a small black box with a red bow. 

“Merry Christmas, brother,” he said and handed it over.

Mycroft took the box and looked from it to Sherlock’s eyes. His breath caught in his throat.

“Thank you,” he all but whispered, dumbstruck.

“I’m glad you came. I’ll contact you soon. I promise.”

Mycroft nodded, emotion rising in his chest. “Looking forward, brother mine.”

Suddenly he realised that the room around them had grown deathly quiet, with only the music audible. Everyone was looking at them, and their parents were even holding hands. He put the box into his suit pocket and looked at his brother again. 

I’m sorry I didn’t make more of an effort tonight, his eyes tried to say.

Sherlock just shook his head. 

Take your time, he mouthed.

Mycroft nodded, throat constricting. He waved his goodbye to his parents and quickly departed the room. Christmas miracles, huh? Mycroft shook his head. He should’ve known. Sherlock had been consistently on his side since Sherrinford. It was Mycroft, who had withdrawn. He walked slowly down the stairs and into the street, where a car was already waiting for him. Then he heard the door behind him, just as he had reached it.

“Mycroft!”

He turned around, more than surprised.

“Inspector Lestrade?”

“It’s Greg, Mycroft.”

“Greg, very well. How can I help you? Did I forget anything?”

Greg slowly walked closer, right hand in his pocket. Mycroft frowned.

“A present?” he asked.

“Yes, well,” Greg said and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, held it out. “This is for you.”

Mycroft looked at the paper for moment, then took it, realised that it was an envelope. As he turned it about, Greg took a step back and Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He tried to read Greg’s face and could see embarrassment, nervousness and… arousal?

“Open it at home, please,” he said with a shy smile. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

And then he was gone. Mycroft stared at the closing door, then at the envelope in his hand. He turned it about. It had creases like Greg had touched it repeatedly, held it in his hand – probably in his pocket – throughout the evening. On the front it just said ‘Mycroft’ in Greg’s writing. It was sealed. Mycroft took a breath, turned away from Baker Street and slipped into the car.

“Stay here,” he said to his driver and stared at his present.

He remembered Greg’s expression and in an impulsive moment he ripped the paper open. There was a small note inside. He read it. He read it again. He put it down and stared out of the window. Then he read it again. It hadn’t changed. His breathing had stopped.

[This voucher entitles Mycroft Holmes to three orgasms courtesy of Greg Lestrade. Redeemable anytime.]

What in the seven hells was this? How could Greg just…? Was this a joke? Well, it didn’t seem like it, and Greg wasn’t the type to play these type of pranks. So that left only one conclusion: He was serious. Mycroft swallowed. He felt heat rise up his face and through his whole body. Greg Lestrade… was offering… to him… To Mycroft of all people. The mere thought was enough to almost make him pass out. No one had expressed any interest in him like that in… what felt like forever. He swallowed. Then he put a hand on the door handle.

“Wait here,” he told his driver.

He was back in Baker Street in record time. As he walked into the living room, everyone stared at him bewildered – only Greg’s eyes were widened in shock. Mycroft approached him and stared into them, tried to see the lie, but he could only see anticipation, tinged with a bit of fear. So he grabbed Greg’s wrist and pulled him out of the room, out of the building and to his car. He pushed him in unceremoniously, but it didn’t even seem like Greg wanted to give much resistance, then slipped in himself and raised the privacy screen.

Greg was manhandled into the seat, and Mycroft immediately crowded him, all but straddled him, hands on both sides of his head. He put their faces so close together that they almost touched, hot breath mingling.

“Why?” he asked.

Greg swallowed, his hands uselessly hanging at his side, as if he dared not move them. 

“I took a risk.”

“Why?” Mycroft asked again.

“I want you,” he whispered and Mycroft felt a rush of heat course through his body at this delicious admission.

“And you found no other way to ask me?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Cheeky,” Mycroft said and let their lips hover close, so close… until he drew back and moved away… to the opposite seat, legs apart. “I’m using the voucher right now.”

Greg’s eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to protest, but Mycroft could see it and chuckled, which shut the other up effectively.

“It said ‘anytime’. I don’t make the rules,” Mycroft said with a smirk.

This time Greg laughed, closed his eyes for a moment, then moved forward, but stopped when Mycroft raised his hand, slumped back into the seat. They looked at each other, Greg frowning.

“I thought you said–”

“Yes. But nowhere did it say that it had to be me. Go on, pleasure yourself. Show me that you want me.”

Greg swallowed again and looked Mycroft over. He hesitated, and Mycroft had expected nothing less. It was a… curious situation, but Greg had made the first move, and now he had to live with the consequences. Mycroft wasn’t someone who let this kind of opportunity go to waste. But more than wanting to see Greg like this, he also wanted to confirm with his own eyes that he had said the truth. That he really wanted Mycroft. The man had been a surprising comfort in the days after Sherrinford, though their contact had lessened since. Mycroft had been too distracted to think of anything else back then, but now… now he was all focused on Greg.

Then, after well over half a minute, Greg’s hands finally moved. He placed them on both knees, then let them slowly glide up his legs, until his left came to rest between his legs, where a noticeable bulge had already signalled his willingness to participate for a while yet. As he pressed down, his eyes closed and a low moan escape him. Mycroft felt the sound rush through his body like fire.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m waiting.”

Mycroft didn’t cross his legs, or made any other attempt to conceal his arousal at seeing Greg open his trousers. A car rushed by, making both men aware that while they were concealed in the twilight, they were still very much in public. Greg looked up to Mycroft once more, then moved down in the seat, so that their knees were touching and reached into his pants. As his erection sprung free, Mycroft couldn’t mask the gasp that escaped him involuntarily. Greg actually grinned and wrapped his right hand around himself, started stroking. His head fell back with a curse and his frame bucked a little. Mycroft could almost see the pleasure course through his body, making him shiver. His own erection made itself known, pressing against the cloth.

“I want you so badly,” Greg whispered. “I’ve wanted you for years, but you were always so far away…”

Mycroft squirmed in his seat, fingers tightening in the fabric of his own trousers. His eyes followed the curve of Greg’s throat, lingered on his lips, which were open to release his heavy breaths. Greg wasn’t teasing or putting on a show. He looked almost desperate to get off, stroking himself hard and fast. Mycroft’s fingers twitched… Greg was so close… 

“Fuck… Mycroft…” Greg breathed and stared into his eyes.

“I imagine you’d look perfect spread out in front of my fireplace, the light of the flames dancing across your naked body…” Mycroft said in a low voice, watching Greg’s every move. “You don’t know what you’ve started. Once I have my claws in something I don’t let go. I want… I need you in my bed tonight… My tongue teasing you everywhere until you twist yourself, squirm under me and beg me to fuck you…”

Greg moaned, eyes closed, “Fuck… I can’t hold it… I…”

Before he knew it himself, Mycroft had slipped to his knees and put both hands on Greg’s legs to push them apart. His lips wrapped themselves around the head of Greg’s cock and he sucked mercilessly. Greg screamed as he came apart, emptying himself into Mycroft’s mouth, hips bucking, pushing up. Mycroft couldn’t breathe. The only thing he could feel was Greg pulsing inside him, his quivering thighs, the hand that had buried itself in his hair. Greg was groaning, cursing, calling Mycroft’s name, until he finally slumped into the car seat as if his string had been cut. Mycroft gently released him and licked his lips.

“That was one,” he said with a grin and caught Greg’s eyes, who couldn’t do anything but break out into hysterical laughter. He pushed himself forward and fell onto Mycroft, crawled into his lap and brought their lips together in a lazy kiss, tongue swirling around Mycroft’s mouth – no doubt tasting himself and moaning as he did. Mycroft couldn’t help but rut against Greg’s solid body, his own erection demanding more attention than it was getting. But when Greg reached between them he caught his hand, brought it up to his mouth to give it a loving kiss.

“Not now,” he said,

“But–”

“Didn’t you to me listen earlier? I’m taking you home right now so I can take full advantage of the remainder of your thoughtful present.”

Greg’s eyes sparkled even in the dark, as he looked into Mycroft’s, arms around his shoulders. They shared a more unhurried kiss, during which both of their heart rates settled a little and their bodies grew warm.

“The other two will have to be you, like they were all three supposed to,” Greg said.

“Then I’ll just have to have you fuck me until you can make good on your promise.”

Just then Mycroft’s phone rang and he almost jumped. Fumbling hands extracted it from his pocket and he looked at the caller ID. Sherlock.

“Take it,” Greg said.

Mycroft sighed and took the call. “What do you want?”

“We’re betting on the possibility of you either killing or shagging Lestrade in your car, which still hasn’t moved even one inch, brother.”

“I’m not dead,” Greg said.

“You win, John,” Sherlock said loudly to the room.

“Yes!” the other shouted in the background.

“Congratulate the good doctor on his judgement,” Mycroft said dryly. “Please don’t contact either me or the inspector until the new year.”

Greg’s eyes widened. He moved closer to Mycroft, both still on the floor of the vehicle and trailed his hand up his legs, until he reached the centre… and squeezed.

“Gregory!” Mycroft shouted, but descended into a low moan when Greg pressed again.

“I understand. No need to demonstrate,” Sherlock replied. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft, Lestrade.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” both replied, almost at the same time and smiled. 

Then the call was cut and Greg attacked Mycroft, pressed his body into the side of the seat and bit down on the skin of his neck. Mycroft bucked and almost shouted, cursing as Greg held him down.

“The apartment, sir?” a voice sounded in the background, from a speaker. It took both of them a second to realise that the driver had just asked them a question and Mycroft actually laughed out loud, while Greg’s face grew red.

“Yes. Thank you, George,” he replied while holding down a button near the window. “And take the days until the new year off.”

“Thank you, sir,” came the reply and the car started moving.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s well paid and doesn’t actually care,” Mycroft said. “If anything you just gave him a free vacation.”

“Are you really taking me home?” Greg asked and put a hand on Mycroft’s cheek, who leaned into the touch like a cat.

“I suppose you’ve thought about this… about me?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes…” Greg admitted. “More than you’d probably like.”

“Then I’m taking you home and not letting you go until you do all the delicious things to me that you’ve imagined,” Mycroft said with a grin.

“Some of them you do to me, you know.”

“I think that can be arranged.”


End file.
